Body and Soul
by Kinners
Summary: A terrible accident leaves Ensign Davonna Aileen Craig physically, mentally and even emotionally crippled. As far as she's concerned, there's no hope or meaning in carrying on, and she lashes out at anyone who tries to tell her otherwise. Who better to heal her and tell her the truth than the one entity who is immune to her acrimony and cannot tell a lie?
1. Prologue

Personal Log, Stardate 43126.4

It has been approximately thirty one minutes, fifty two seconds, and seven point eight milliseconds since Ensign Craig's accident in Engineering. Fortunately the engine was largely undamaged, despite the disastrous outcome my calculations predicted, and was soon repaired once the engineering crew were returned to their posts. I have returned to sickbay to ensure that Dr. Crusher has indeed stabilized her condition-and to evaluate the damages to her person.

When I walked in, Craig was still unconscious in the surgical biobed, and Dr. Crusher was standing on the far side of the sensor cluster with one elbow in her hand and the other hand over her mouth. She looked as if in deep thought, yet by her body language was apprehensive. She was not looking at the readings on the cluster, but at Craig herself. Even from three metres away I noticed something wrong with the patient. Very wrong. Still I had to ask.

"Dr. Crusher?"

When named, she seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts held her transfixed. She looked up at me and took a suddenly deep breath, but when she spoke there were no irregularities in her voice.

"Yes, Data?" she responded, putting her hands on her hips. By her previously observed manner she was either fatigued or sad. Taking into account Craig's condition I would suspect either with an equal probability. A feeling of discouragement or pity would be a very human response to operating on someone with such severe injuries, especially if the aforementioned someone is a friend or acquaintance. I walked up to the biobed, coming to a halt next to it. I looked down at the patient, noting the only slightly mussed hair and uncommonly calm expression. For a person with her personality and condition, she looked remarkably at ease. However, having been unconscious since the accident, she could not have been aware.

"How is she?" I inquired. The question was slightly redundant, as by now I had directed my attention to the readings on the sensor cluster. Nonetheless she answered.

"Almost stable," she reported after another deep breath. "She lost a lot of blood. We had a heck of a time closing the wound, as you can imagine."

"Being an android, I am incapable of imagination." I reminded, looking up at her again. She gave a small sigh and a smaller smile.

"I know, Data," she replied. I resumed perusing Ensign Craig's analysis. "However, she's a strong girl. She handled the shock very well. I suspect that she will recover swiftly."

"That is good," I observed candidly. Everything the doctor had said coincided with what I had read on the screen. I straightened and looked back at her. "Her physical health is much better than I had predicted. I have no doubt that she will be physically sound in very little time. It is her mental health that concerns me."

"That's a concern I share," she concurred, taking a bated breath as she looked at Craig again. "Knowing Davonna, she's not gonna like this one bit." That statement confused me.

"I do not believe anyone would take kindly to her current situation," I stated, furrowing my eyebrows and tilting my head at Dr. Crusher. "How could she being herself worsen her already difficult condition?"

"Guess you don't know her very well," observed the doctor. By her raised eyebrows and slight smile, I deduced that she must be surprised. "If you did, you'd know exactly how."

"No, I do not," I discovered after running through my memories. My curiosity was piqued. "What is Ensign Craig like?"

"She's…" Dr. Crusher paused to gather her thoughts. Craig must be confusing. "...well, she's no pushover, that's for sure. She's very strong-willed, a little impetuous sometimes, and she takes her self-competence and independence very seriously. I'm not saying that she should like this one bit, I'm just saying she's the last person I would want to undergo this."

Despite the doctor's good intentions, her explanation only confused me further. "Do you mean to say that if you were to choose who to be injured in this fashion, you would subject everyone else first to this injury and then her?"

That made her laugh. While I cannot harness humor at will, it appears to manifest itself through me at the most unexpected of times. "No, Data, it's a figure of speech. It means that she wouldn't handle this as well as someone else would. In fact, I think that out of all the people on the Enterprise she would have the worst reaction. Or rather, she's going to."

"All because of her personality?" I clarified. She nodded. Once again she appeared nervous, yet with a sense of resignation about her. To see those two conflicting emotions expressed at once baffled me. She couldn't seem to look away from Craig for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Gosh, she's so young," she sighed, shaking her head in what could only be called anguish. She was correct by human standards-as an avid and very recent graduate of Starfleet, I estimated her age at approximately nineteen. Upon reexamining the doctor, I discovered bags under her eyes and an unusually drawn countenance. I made these observations known before I could stop myself.

"Doctor, you look tired." I stated.

"Don't you worry about me, Data," she replied with a wry smile. I found myself unable to comply to her request.

"Allow me to reiterate-you look exhausted," I restated. She sighed again and ran her hands over her face, another sign of fatigue. "In your current condition, I believe it would be unwise for you to continue working."

"I have to wait up with the patient," she informed, closing her eyes for a moment. I began to form a potential solution as she gave more information. "At her present state it's not safe to wake her up yet, but I can't allow her to wake up alone either."

"I could stay, Doctor," I offered in a sudden flash of inspiration. "I do not need rest. I can ensure that she does not hurt herself, and as for me it is unlikely that she can harm me. In the event that she requires medical attention, I will awaken you."

"I really should stay," she murmured to herself. She was beginning to waver on her feet from want of sleep.

"Dr. Crusher, it is in the best interests of all parties involved that you get some rest."

"You really can't take no for an answer, can you?" she jested, raising her eyebrows over heavy-lidded eyes. I gave her a small smile in return.

"I am capable of accepting that answer, but it is the wrong one." I elucidated. She chuckled again, shaking her head in mock despair. I suspected that she would soon see my reasoning.

"Oh, all right, Data, you win," she relented finally, turning towards the door. "You're sweet. Just keep yourselves safe, don't try to explain what happened, and make sure she gets some sleep."

"You have no reason to worry, Doctor," I assured her preemptively. She gave me a final glance of gratitude over her shoulder.

"Okay, Data."


	2. First Night

_"What the devil is she doing? La Forge, cut off power to the engines. Data, get her out of there!"_

 _"Aye, sir."_

 _"No, Cap'n, ah'm almost-!"_

I wake up, from either the realness of the nightmare or my own scream.

I bolt upright, arms and abs propping me up as my lungs heave like an out-of-control steam engine. For a long time all I can do is stare into space, literally, gazing through the universe out the window with eyes as wide as the twin full moons of Teneebia. I notice that I'm too warm, approximately the core of a blue star's worth of too warm, despite my only covers being a furry yet flimsy blanket. I can feel sweat drops eerily creeping down my brow and the side of my face, yet I can't bring my rigid limbs to do anything about it. My fingers clutch the mattress like the desperate last grips of a cat before declawing. My heart pounds as if I am freefalling off the side of a mountain. Every muscle is so tense it hurts. I feel like I'm trapped, I feel like I'm dying, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

"Ensign, please remain calm."

I take a more normal breath in preparation of chewing whoever dares to intrude upon me a new one, but then I discover that I like being able to breathe normally so I keep doing that instead. It also occurs to me that I don't even know who's doing the daring, so I resolve to get my body to obey me in order to discover the culprit-or at least my neck vertebrae. Jerkily, uncertainly, like a broken robot, I turn my head to the right. Across the room reclines the one entity I do not expect and do not want to see.

" _Data?_ " I exclaim, resuming a 'The &$#?' look with angry eyebrows and confused mouth set.

"Correct." he affirms, having the guts at least to look up from his book to look me in the eye. I can read his expression of polite interest perfectly courtesy of the lamp perched on the nightstand beside him, yet I squint at him in suspicion.

"The &$# are _you_ doing here?" I demand. Even more infuriating than his mere presence is the nonplussed face he regards me with, as if I was as docile and well-mannered as a Vulcan pacifist. I mentally spit in his general direction.

"I am here with you to ensure your general well-being," he explains. What kind of a goody two-faced lie is that?

"Where's the doctor?" I interrogate. At that question, he raises his eyebrows, as if the very notion of a doctor being near her patient is unlikely enough for him to be mildly surprised at my question. % $#, I hate him.

"She is resting," he replies. "And judging by your inquiry, you seem to have some recollection of the...event at engineering. What else do you remember?"

His hesitation in speech is an instant red flag. He's an android, his speech should run as smoothly as this galaxy-class ship. What would make him stammer?

"Me memory's perfectly fine, thank you," I snap, to which he does not react. "Except for this 'event' yer referring to. Last ah remember, ah was in Engineering, and the good Cap'n was giving me an earful. As it should be! Nothin' happened. Not a thing. Ah don't know what Ah'm doin' in this bed, gettin' babysat by you!"

"Either your memory is not as fine as you believe it is, or you are lying," he observes candidly. %$#, what gave it away? "I suspect the latter, seeing as you are overelaborating, defensive, and referring to facts that I know are untrue."

"Fine, then!" I retort, angrily crossing my arms. "Tell me what happened, ya daft robot!"

He opens his mouth, shuts it again. The look on his face can almost be called something sad. The closest I'll agree with is indecision.

"I was instructed against explaining what happened to you," he repulses, dancing around my query in an all-too-human manner. "The best thing you can do right now is get some sleep."

"You'd think it's the middle o' the night and Ah've been on me feet since o'five hundred, the way yer carrying on!" I growl indignantly. "Even for a bot, yer actin' right strange. Fishy, even. Ah don't understand what's goin' on, it's almost like ah never even-"

Then the answer hits me in the stomach like a happy bullet.

"It's a dream." I realized, so shocked I forgot to smile. A ruddy dream! "That's what this is."

"I assure you, Ensign, this is not a dream." Of course Data would try to ruin it for me.

"That's exactly what someone in a dream would say!" I accused, jabbing a finger at him with angry eyebrows. Then he put on that puzzled look that was absolutely adorable to everyone but me.

"Is it?" he inquired.

"Ah, no, ya don't!" I rebuffed, refusing to get sucked into believing it. "Yer gettin' tricky on me! Funny, ah didn't think me subconscious was so devious."

"No, ma'am. I ask because androids do not dream-or at least I cannot." he lied. Well, could you call it a lie if your dreaming subconscious made it up?

"Ugh. One would think that a dream Data would be at least a little imaginative." I grumbled.

"It is not a dream."

"Yes it is, you daft robot! It has tae be! Ah don't even have me-"

Happy bullet's gone.

So are my legs.

Looking at the gap in my existence, the sight goes in one eye and out the other. I don't believe it. That's not right, it can't be. Where are they? The blanket slopes down from my waist, ignoring the space occupied by my AWOL limbs. I try to move them, to convince myself of this illusion's farcity, but there's nothing to move. Are they just asleep, and all this really is is a terrible nightmare? I have to know for sure.

I thrust my hands into that unreal space.

 _Please-_

They never meet flesh.

For an infinite moment I only sit there in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do or think and so resolving on nothing. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. Nothing there. There's nothing left. Everything is wrong, nothing is as it should be, or ever will be again. Nothing is okay, and I can't fix it. I leave my hands in that awful space because I can't move. I can't move because I won't. There's no reason to. It's over, but nothing really happened. Things just decided to end. I couldn't do anything about it, and I can't now. I can't fix it. But if I can't move, what will I do? If I can't fix it, what can I? What am I?

"Go to sleep, Ensign."

For the first and only time, I do as he says without another word.


End file.
